


Woolgathering

by Anonymous



Series: Himling Extras [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Husbandry, Crafts, Domestic Fluff, Durincest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Shearing, yes.  But what about SECOND shearing?
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Himling Extras [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913266
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Secret Admirers 2020





	Woolgathering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).



> A gift to Linane for GatheringFiki Secret Admirers 2020. Enjoy!

_All done,_ said the cloud of fluff.

Fíli willed the corners of his mouth not to twitch. _I thank you for the news. May I speak to my brother, please?_

The cloud – in actual fact a massive bale of new-shorn sheepswool – hit the riverbank with a muted thump _._ Loose filaments of wool flew everywhere, swirling in the air, snagging comically on clothing and braids... 

_Kíli!_ cried Fíli, lunging forward to rescue the fleeces. _Now the wool will be all dirty!_

 _We have to wash it anyway. And look— it_ wants _to be washed!_ Kíli splashed through the pebbly shallows to snatch up a long, sodden bone-colored curl before it escaped downstream. Upon returning, he poked Fíli with his wet boot toe. _Don’t fret. I took out the worst of the burrs and sticklers._

 _You’ve done very well. How fares the flock?_

Smug: _I think they’re still speaking to me_. 

Kíli was no born shepherd; he came by the requisite cool head and steady hand via many a mistake. His first shearing had been rather a trial, and a good many half-clipped sheep roamed the hills that summer. A second attempt in the fall proved beneficial, and now Kíli made a point of shearing twice a year. Now accustomed to his ways, the ewes barely stamped at him anymore. Nor did they mind him taking their wool. 

_You should see them after,_ he crowed, dropping down next to his brother. _Like lambs, gamboling around._

 _They’re like us._ Fíli handed over the waterskin. _Relieved to be shed of their jackets when it’s warm outside._

Much labor lay ahead. The fleeces must be trimmed, tied, soaked in cold water and then washed in hot, rinsed thoroughly and spread to dry. Then came carding. The brothers would work side by side, laughing, singing rounds – Fíli high, Kíli low – and pilling stray fuzz into tiny pellets to flick at one another.

 _Don’t forget the cider!_ Kíli would cry. That was their autumn carding drink, served hot and well-spiced. Every season had its libation; they drank milk stout after lambing and bitters after the spring shearing. Kíli would permit no spirits at slaughter-time – he claimed it was ‘disrespectful’ to the victims – but he and Fíli more than made up for it during the rams’ rut, which (they both agreed) was catching.

 _Look what_ I’ve _gathered,_ Fíli commanded. Herb season was upon them, and he’d been on the downs all morning, hunting and digging among the spiny weed-heads. Now his bounty lay beautifully sorted and ranged over the face of a flat river stone. Leaves and roots for the home pharmacy; blossoms and seed-umbels for steeping in wine. And most importantly, plants that produce color.

After several years’ practice, Fili had assembled a dyer's swatchbook to take pride in. He could coax six different hues out of the same lowly root, all of them true and tenacious. Craving in-between shades, he’d decided this year to try his hand at overdyeing. Madder over alkanet for mauve, dyer’s broom over indigo for green…

All of these he had, plus rhubarb leaf and root, weld and woad—and best of all, a whole basket of glossy black pokeberries. Of course, the brothers knew never to taste them, but they made a gorgeous dye of deep, pure wine-red that looked especially fine on Kili.

 _For me?_ he smiled.

 _For you,_ replied Fíli. _You’ve earned it._

As always, half of this season’s wool yield would be spun into yarn of varying gauges. Fíli preferred nailbinding, while Kíli still clung to his old spool and hook. Socks, gaiters, scarves, and blankets grew by the magic of their hands. But spinning was most pleasant of all pastimes, a favored task made for long companionable nights by the fire. Once more side by side, each armed with his own distaff and drop-spindle, the brothers would dream away the winter evenings, minds free to wander while hands did all the work…

The balance of the wool would be felted in wide, flat trays under the sun. It was a back-breaking task, but one that Kíli undertook cheerfully, for he had the final say in how his felt would be utilized. Last year, they used the thick, warm panels to pave the cold stone floor of the sitting-room. The year before that, it made a wondrously comfortable mattress. This year, thoughts of a new winter coat for his Fíli would drive Kíli onward through the aches and pains. He had it all planned out. He’d make an extra-thick felt, work it so that it was butter-soft and pliant… The color would be the best part, a perfect blue that Fíli would compound the dye for, never knowing he'd soon be wrapped in it himself…

But right now, Kíli had little of dyecraft on his mind. Hard work’s a tonic, but not nearly so great a tonic as leisure and love. Once the fleeces were washed and spread out to dry, he and Fíli could relax in their own fashion— _the sooner the better,_ in his opinion. 

_Let’s get cracking. This wool’s not all that wants a bath,_ he complained. _I’m tired, and my shoulders hurt, and my back, and my arms…_ He leveled a meaningful stare at Fíli. _All of me needs seeing to._

Fíli chuckled. _I have a cure,_ he said, and this was the truth. Lanolin cream scented with lavender and thyme works wonders for the weary, but it has to be applied _just so_ …


End file.
